


Massage

by Writing-Rammstein (writingfanfic)



Category: Rammstein
Genre: F/M, Massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 10:31:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13679892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-Rammstein
Summary: For the prompt: 'Giving Richard a massage after Till set him on fire or something / he sustained an injury and it gets heated. ;)'Sure can do. Nice pun btw.





	Massage

“I have sprained my arm playing guitar. You don’t need to keep mentioning it.”

“It’s wanker’s cramp,” you whisper in Richard’s ear, and you can almost _sense_ your boyfriend rolling his eyes from where he sits on the floor at your feet.

“You are so cruel, do you recognise that?” he says, and you grin. “I hate you. Whatever.” You grab the massage wax, and pick a little more off, rubbing it in your hands before gently massaging his shoulder. “You’re doing God’s work back there, you know that, right?”

“You just want to be pampered.” He shrugs, smirking, and you sigh. “You’re so… vain.”

“Don’t you mean narcissistic?” he says, and you roll your eyes, before pushing your thumb between his spine and his shoulder blade. “Ow… fuck.” He winces. “That’s the last time I take Paul up on a bet…”

“What did you bet him? That you could dislocate your shoulder?”

“No. I bet him I could play guitar behind my head for an entire song. I forgot I am old now.” He looks over at you. “Could you… uh, massage the front for me, please?” You lean in, fingers sliding over his shoulder and onto his chest, and as you begin to gently rub his muscles, he leans his head back against you. “Where have you been all of my life?”

You don’t answer; you’re enjoying touching his chest, to be honest - who wouldn’t?! - and as your fingers slide over his nipple, he tenses, before a faint moan rumbles out of his throat.

“You’re not very professional about this,” he says, a hint of wickedness in his voice, and it’s your turn to smirk. “What am I paying you for?”

“You’re not paying me,” you say, and in a flash, he has twisted up and is pinning you down to the sofa. “R-Rich!”

“Maybe I should pay you,” he says easily, and you bite your lip as you stare into those deep, green eyes, filled with lust; he pushes himself on top of you and captures your mouth with his. Richard doesn’t move slowly. “You are gorgeous.”

“Says you,” you say softly, hands pressed up against his chest - mmm, that chest. It’s so good. You just want to bite it, leave marks all over it… but it seems he has other plans when his head dips to your neck and he sinks his teeth into it, tongue flickering over the skin beneath as you gasp. You respond by digging your nails in just over his heart, and he winces, lip curling in a little snarl.

“Hmm…” He pushes your shirt up, and strokes your skin beneath it, leaving lines on you with his black-painted, bitten nails. “(Y/N)…”

“Rich,” you purr back, and he pulls your shirt off entirely, before lowering his head and trailing his tongue all the way from your navel up between your breasts and to your neck where he bites at you again, breath huffing wolfishly from his lips. You dig your nails into his back, feeling his muscles shift under his skin, and he grinds down against you; your hands trail over his hips, and to his crotch, where you can feel how hard he is through his jeans.

“I didn’t burn off all of my energy on stage,” he murmurs; you kiss him, feeling his mouth fall open to pant against yours as you stroke him through the fabric. “Babe…”

“Fuck me, Richard,” you murmur, and his smirk grows.

“I plan to.” He kisses you deeply, those beautiful eyes fluttering shut, and you raise your hands to run them through his spiked hair. “I preferred it when you were touching me…”

You roll your eyes, and trace your hands back over his chest and down, feeling his stomach tense as you reach his belt - undoing it, you throw it onto the floor, and then undo his zipper, sliding your hand inside to stroke his erection. He gives another low, rumbled moan in the back of his throat, fingers pulling at your trousers, and slides his fingers inside your underwear, stroking you as he thrusts into your hand, jaw slack and chest heaving.

“Jesus…” His words are a little slurred already, and you wish you were going down on him for a moment; you love watching Richard fluctuate between dominant and submissive, desperate to be wanted but to have you as well, but then he kisses you hard and you know what kind of mood he’s in. “Clothes. Off. Now.”

You reach down, unbuttoning your own pants and wriggling out of them as he shucks his off, boxers and all, and throws them over the arm of the chair. He’s in his element when he doesn’t have any clothes to force him to behave; he pulls your bra off, almost tearing the clasps apart, and that goes onto the floor somewhere too. His mouth is on your breasts in an instant, tongue flickering against your nipples to make them harder, and his fingers slide into you, leaving you whimpering as he stretches you wide.

“ _Liebchen_ ,” he mouths, breath hot against your skin, almost absently, as if it slipped out as he was focusing on something else; you shiver, stroking him gently, and you feel his teeth pressed against the skin of your throat again. He pulls your panties down with his rough fingers, and then his lips are back on yours, biting at your bottom lip as he slides into you, hands on your hips.

“Rich,” you gasp, and he growls in your ear as he thrusts into you, thumb between your bodies and rubbing your clit to send sparks through you. “Rich, baby, keep going…” You are so lucky you are fucking a guitarist, you think, fuzzily - he’s got such talented fingers. You can feel the vibrations of his deep moans through his chest, and the rapid pounding of his pulse under your fingers pressed up against him, and your toes curl as you feel yourself teetering on the brink of coming.

“Come for me,” he mutters, and you do, feeling heat soak through you like a hot bath; you cling to him, nails scratching down his back, and he arches against you, almost snarling in your ear, hips bucking against you as you tighten around him. He is so forceful it almost hurts, but it feels so good at the same time that you close your eyes and ride it out, begging for him desperately. He replies in hoarse German, something you don’t understand, and then his hands clutch onto your hips, pulling you close as he swears under his breath - you catch your name a few times, and then he collapses onto you, chest heaving for a moment. You stroke his back gently, and then he looks up at you, pupils huge.

“Well, guess which idiot was leaning on his bad arm?” he says, and you look at him resignedly. He pushes himself up, and shakes his arm. “Okay. Well, first of all, I am going to need another massage…”

“You wish. You can’t call it payment when you got off too,” you banter back, and he smiles at you, eyes still a little wide. “Now… let’s go shower, and we can work out some actual payment…”


End file.
